Half My Blood Page 5

  Holly’s stomach knotted. “Am I supposed to have one? Is it important?”

  Maggie shrugged. “It’s just the way things have always been done. Michael hasn’t said anything about it to you?”

  “No.” Doubt prickled up the back of her neck. “Should I bring it up?”

  Maggie’s gaze was measuring, even if her words were kind. “You can. I mean, you can’t get a tat while you’re pregnant – it’s not recommended, anyway. But you can ask if he wants you to have one later. After.”

  “He…he must want that. Since I’m his old lady. And that’s what old ladies do…”

  Maggie shrugged again as she headed for the day. “All you can do is ask.”

  When she was gone, Holly turned slowly back to the desk, her stomach feeling empty above the solid weight of the growing baby. Michael wasn’t one for doing things strictly the MC way. At least, he hadn’t been before she’d come into his life. Taking her on as his old lady had him searching out his brothers for a newborn, awkward comradery. For her sake, he was making an effort to be something besides a knife within the club. For her, he was working on his caveman social skills.

  But he’d never mentioned the tattoo.

  Maybe he had no interest in inking his name into the hip of a woman who bolted out of bed and tried to claw his eyes out in the middle of the night.

  “The paw print?” Ava asked with a small frown as she lifted plates up into the proper cabinet, adding them to the stack already there.

  Holly stood at the counter opposite her, slotting silverware into a rack in a drawer. They were getting the kitchen all set up and ready for use while Remy took his afternoon nap.

  Maggie had suggested she close up the office early, re-routing any truck rental calls to the main office. “Go home and get some rest,” she’d said. Holly hadn’t argued, but she hadn’t gone home, instead heading for the Lécuyers’ new house, thinking Ava might like more help. She’d been ushered in with a welcome smile.

  Ava took the next plate from the box and stared at it in contemplation, tilting it so the sunlight skimmed down its shiny yellow surface. “Mercy and I’ve never talked about it.” It sounded like an admission. “We just…” She glanced up at Holly, still frowning. “We both have our gators.” Holly had noticed the new tat on Mercy’s neck. “And we…I guess we weren’t thinking too much about tradition. Or the club.” Her frown became a rueful half-smile. “We were all about our own thing.”

  And their thing was beautiful, from all outward appearances.

  Holly nodded. But there was still a knot in her gut. “Do you think I ought to ask Michael–”

  “No,” Ava said quickly. She seemed to shake out of her trance and put the plate away, reached for the next one. “Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do,” she amended with a fast glance as she worked. “I don’t know Michael as well as you do, I know that. But if things are going well, then why mess it up because of something like a tattoo?”

  “Well,” Holly countered, “if things really are as good as I think they are, could a tattoo actually make a mess?”

  “Good point,” Ava said.

  Holly wanted to twist her hands together, and reached for a bundle of forks instead, arranging them in their slot. “The thing is, though, I don’t know if things are good.”

  Ava paused, facing her fully, eyes bright with sympathy. “You guys are having trouble?”

  “No – no, not trouble. It’s only…” She didn’t think she could bring herself to confide any of her history to Ava. She heaved a deep sigh. “I haven’t ever…I don’t know if…Michael’s the only relationship I’ve ever had,” she finished in a rush. “I don’t know what normal looks like or feels like. I had a really bad nightmare last night, and I freaked out, and I thought he was someone else, and I sort of attacked him–” She had to suck in a desperate breath. Sweat was forming on top of her skin, under her clothes, nervous perspiration. “He was really quiet this morning, and I don’t know if he’s…what if he starts to rethink marrying me?”

  “Holly,” Ava scolded softly. “He’s not going to do that.”

  “Everything happened fast with us. I never expected him to marry me. Or to be okay with the baby.” She clamped her lips shut before her voice started to shake.

  Ava’s expression was half-sad, half-thoughtful. “Michael isn’t exactly normal, in my book. I don’t think you need to worry about him. This nightmare. He knows what it was about?”

  Holly nodded.

  “That’s all you can do, then, is talk to him. Trust him.” She gave her an earnest look. “He’s not the kind of guy who’d marry for the hell of it. He loves you. You know he does.”

  Holly nodded.

  They worked in silence a few moments, Holly wishing she could make sense of the tangled worries lodged in her throat, hating that she’d admitted her doubts to her friend. That’s what friends were for, sure, but Holly didn’t want to have said doubts in the first place.

  After a while, Ava said, “You know, you guys didn’t really get a chance to bask in being together.” When Holly glanced up, she said, “You were recovering when you got married, and then you found out you were pregnant. It did happen fast. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t good – just fast. Maybe you two need to spend a little more time together.”

  “Like a vacation?” She didn’t know if either of them could get time off from work.

  Ava grinned. “Like, stay in bed for days and do nothing but talk and have sex.”

  Holly felt her cheeks warm. “Oh.”

  Ava’s grin widened. “Never underestimate the power of working things out in the bedroom.”

  By the time Michael got home from work that evening, a plan was starting to form in her head. It scared her a little, and left her breathless, too.

  It was hot, so she made them chicken with cold pasta salad for dinner. She was slicing up iceberg lettuce for a true salad when she heard the garage door go up and then down, and Michael’s booted footsteps came up the basement stairs. He was a lithe, graceful man; it was more the steps creaking under his weight than his feet making much noise. Still, it was enough for her to know it was him, and to be prepared for the basement door to open and close, emitting him into the room.

  He put his back to her first, toeing off his boots and setting them in the rack by the door. Holly took the chance to look him over from behind, the strong, tapered lines of his back, the fit of his jeans, the lengths of his legs.

  He was beautiful, and the sight of him in his dirty garage shirt added to the breathlessness of her plan.

  “Hi,” she called, hoping her voice sounded normal, casual.

  “Hey.” His expression was careful as he turned and walked toward her. He went to the fridge first, grabbed a beer for himself and twisted off the top. When he walked over to kiss her, it was a peck, and not the deep, tongue-laden greeting it normally was.

  “Good day?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Mmhm.”

  He lingered beside her a moment, like he wanted to say something else, but awkwardness got the best of him and he headed into the living room.

  Holly wanted to be crushed by this roadblock thrown up between them. But instead, she sliced through the lettuce with sure strokes of the knife, planning tomorrow night. It had to be then. She couldn’t let things linger like this any longer than necessary.

  Five

  No Brother of Mine

  Michael felt like an ass. Was that the right noun? Ass? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was about to do something he hadn’t ever thought he’d do, and he wasn’t too keen on it.

  As he approached the open bay doors of the bike shop, it looked like he hadn’t picked the best day for this errand.

  “Motherfucking, cocksucking piece of shit…” There was a loud clang of a wrench falling onto the concrete and Mercy straightened up from the other side of the BMW bike he’d been kneeling in front of. Normally, it was his jovial side that came out to play in the gar
age, and not the dark Mr. Hyde part he kept under better wraps. But today, his face was all harsh angles, which made him look both thinner overall, and more threatening.

  “Aidan,” he called. “If you’re gonna make me work on all this foreign shit, then you gotta leave me my good wrenches.”

  Aidan shouted something in response from across the garage that Michael couldn’t make out.

  “Damn punk-ass,” Mercy grumbled under his breath. “Think you’re the boss or some shit.”

  His head jerked, as if he’d suddenly heard or taken note of Michael’s approach. His gaze lifted and it wasn’t friendly. He took a deep breath, though, nostrils flaring, and he composed his voice into something polite. “You wanna swap places for the day? I’d kill to get away from this.” He gestured to the bike.

  Michael snorted. “I think Hol’d have a coronary when you walked in for dinner.”

  A slow smile eased the tightness in Mercy’s features. “Wait. Was that…did you just crack a joke? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  Michael dropped his head and stepped into the shade of the bay, grateful to find it a good ten degrees cooler out of the direct sunlight. The toes of his boots, he saw at this angle, were spattered with drying, gummy motor oil. Hmm…he’d have to buff that off or risk relegating this pair to yard work only.

  Mercy was not one for making strained conversations more so – his social graces, in light of what he did for the club, were mind-boggling. “So what brings you all the way down to this end?” he asked as he resumed his crouch in front of the bike. Michael didn’t miss the small grunt of discomfort that meant his bad knee was bothering him.

  “I…” Michael cleared his throat. He hated this. But he could picture Holly’s wild, moonlit eyes from two nights ago; he could feel the fragile wall of tension between them last night, the invisible barrier that had kept him on his side of the bed. He didn’t like sleeping with any sort of distance, not now that he’d grown used to wrapping himself around his old lady. He hadn’t had many nightmares since she’d come into his life.

  Obviously, she couldn’t say the same thing.

  With a resolute sigh, he lifted his head, resting his hip against a tool chest. “I wanted to…get your opinion on something.”

  Mercy nodded as he worked, his large hands deft on the guts of the machine he studied. “If it’s that Pontiac I saw get towed in this morning, my opinion is that it’s a lost cause.”

  “No.” Shit, why was this so difficult? “A personal opinion, I mean.”

  “About?”

  “I’m thinking about getting an alarm system installed.”

  There. Now was that so hard?

  Mercy glanced up at him from beneath raised brows. “An alarm system.”

  Michael folded his arms. “Yeah. One of the good ones. Name brand and shit.”

  Mercy watched him. “You have to be careful with that. Don’t want the cops showing up the next time you lock yourself outta the house and find you dripping ill-gotten guns.”

  Michael nodded. It was a risk most of the brothers didn’t take. When you wired your house up and invited a third party to monitor it and contact the police, you were inviting Big Brother into your home. Giving the cops an excuse to bust the lock, come right in, and start rifling through your shit in the name of searching for a burglar. It wasn’t anything civilians ever had to worry about. But a one-percenter? That was a cause for concern.

  “I thought,” he said, wanting to fidget and holding still, “it might make Hol feel safer. She’d know no one but me coulda got in past it.”

  Mercy blinked and his expression became curious in a careful sort of way. “Who’d be going in there but you anyway?”

  He flicked a glance across the garage, ensuring that Aidan and his prospect were all the way on the other side, locked in conversation about the Harley they worked on. He hadn’t planned on telling Mercy any of the details – and he would never betray Holly’s trust by talking about the dark, secret ones – but suddenly, he could sense a forthcoming relief in entrusting another man with his worry.

  Is this what friendship felt like? Is that what was happening here with this goofus Cajun he hadn’t ever expected to like?

  “She’s having nightmares,” he said quietly. “And the other night, I spooked her.” Understatement of the year. “I just…don’t want her to worry so much.”

  Mercy didn’t wave off the concern like one of his other brothers might have. Like, say, Ghost or Aidan would. Instead he nodded, and said, “Yeah.” He made a thoughtful face. “She knows her way around a gun, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Another nod. “That’s all that makes me willing to leave Ava home by herself. Good locks on the doors? You could nail the windows shut.”

  Michael snorted. “She likes the fresh air.”

  “Yeah, well…sacrifices and all that.”

  But Michael could envision the shuttered woe in her pixie face as she stood back and watched him drive nails through the window sashes.

  “Can I say something?” Mercy said. “And I swear I don’t mean to be prying into your business. Just an observation.”

  Michael frowned, but nodded.

  “Holly – if I’m right in assuming what I assume – has some deep shit to move past.” His look was almost apologetic. “I think a lot of the time, you can’t get past deep shit.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Mercy shrugged, and there was something polite about the way he refocused on the bike. “If it’ll make her feel better, then get the alarm. You gotta take care of your girl first. Without her, there’s nothing much worth caring about.”

  Exactly Michael’s sentiment. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

  Colin hadn’t showed up yet, and that was a good thing, but dread had Mercy’s nerves stretched tight as fresh guitar strings. Michael’s alarm system problems were a welcome distraction, so he asked the guy if he wanted to stick around a minute, render an opinion on this dumbass Beamer bike he was working on.

  “Nothing’s easy to get to,” Mercy complained as they both crouched in front of the engine. “They never are, but this som’bitch is brand new, and it’s even more fucked up.”

  Michael traced one of the gleaming coils with a finger, frowning. “I never understand why anyone would shell out this kinda money for something like this.”

  A sentiment with which Mercy wholeheartedly agreed. They weren’t patched into an outlaw MC because they appreciated fine German engineering. “Rich dicks think they’re cool.”

  Michael made a sound in the back of his throat to show what he thought of that.

  Across the garage, there was a clatter as something was dropped.

  Aidan and Carter said, “Jeeeeeesus,” at the same time.

  And Mercy knew the dreaded moment had come. Colin was here.

  He stood, and saw the bastard standing just outside the garage, in the full sunlight. Aidan and Carter stared at him. Carter was actually pointing.

  Aidan said, “Dude, are you…nah, can’t be. Are you…?”

  “He’s looking for me,” Mercy said, and the doofuses swiveled around, looking between the two of them.

  “I think he is you,” Aidan said. He grinned. “But I’m guessing you’re the evil twin, bro.”

  “Stuff it.” He turned and handed his favorite wrench to Michael, catching the guy’s quietly startled expression. “Long story,” he muttered, and then headed out to meet Colin before he could start charming the impressionable children.

  “What do you want?”

  All the fake cheer he’d put on display for Ava the other night was gone, replaced with a simmering anger that gave Mercy the eerie impression he was looking in a sideshow mirror. “Like I said before, I need to talk to you.”

  Mercy sighed. “Not here.”

  “You done yet?”

  In answer, Mercy unwrapped the cling film off the second leftover chicken sandwich Ava had brown-bagged him for lunch and took
a huge bite of it. He was enjoying setting the guy on edge. They’d walked over to the clubhouse, far enough from the bike shop that, should things devolve to punch-throwing, they wouldn’t be doing it in front of paying customers. Mercy, in what he thought of as an inspired choice, had gone in, snagged his lunch, and was devouring it down to the last Dorito crumb, making Colin wait. He’d never done that when they were kids; it felt damn good.

  To be a guy the ladies had always swooned over, Colin’s sneer made him look truly ugly. “Did wifey make you lunch?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did she write you a love note on your napkin?”

  It said Love you bunches, Monster, with three little hearts doodled off to the side. He’d crumpled it in his palm first thing when he’d opened the bag and stuffed it in his cut pocket when Colin wasn’t looking. “Nope,” he said, cramming the last square of bread in his mouth. “What’s the matter?” he asked when he’d swallowed. “Wish she’d written one for you? All nostalgic for the good ol’ days when your mama wiped your ass for you?”

  Colin ignored the jab and said, “Nah, man, you were the one always starvin’ for a mama.”

  Okay. Lunch was over.

  Mercy shoved his bag and half-drunk soda off to the side of the picnic table where they sat, giving Colin a level look. “Say what you gotta say to me, and then fuck off. I don’t have time for your bullshit."

  Colin shrugged, and in a deceptively calm voice said, “A’ight. You wanna tell me why you put a round of buckshot through my old man?”

  “Because he was a betraying son of a bitch. Next question.”

  Colin wasn’t as cool as he wanted to be. The affectation dropped off his face, leaving his eyes flashing and his features clenched tight. Mercy didn’t want to see the resemblance to his reflection in the guy…really, he didn’t.

  “They were taking care of you!” He jabbed a long forefinger across the table in Mercy’s direction. “They brought you food–”